


Love is patient, Love is Kind

by Quasi_a_la_Modo



Series: Acerbic Accosting [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Changing Personas, Evisceration, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, hanahaki, love to hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 05:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15187637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasi_a_la_Modo/pseuds/Quasi_a_la_Modo
Summary: "Oh, that this too too solid flesh would melt.""Father, remove this cup from me."Hanahaki AU





	Love is patient, Love is Kind

_Love is patient._

Cold steel squeals against red carnations. Is that blood? Or is that petals? He couldn’t tell. He wished for this to end. He wants nothing left— at long last, this agony within him will cease.

_Love is kind._

Grinding, bone meal, the taste of bitter iron inside his throat. Pain pricks his skin, and his inner bouquet takes in the dank, humid air. Madara grins, pulling delicate shapes from veins, tearing them from his sinew and bones.

_Love is not envious..._

Flesh tears flesh, a gasp of pain. "That little girl stole him," whispers his darker side. A peach blossom forms, to be torn out upon sight.

_Or boastful…_

Stark white figures against a scarlet lake, verdant pastures flooded by a crimson sea. She was nothing compared to him. She was a child. He knows his prey, knows his strengths… and weaknesses. He knows his heart, knows his desire.

_Or arrogant… Or rude._

“It’s almost over, Uchiha.” Sinister laughter fills the air, interrupting his day-dream. As thorns rake solid flesh, the flow of chakra is the only thing keeping him from the threshold of the void.

Obito… 

No. 

That _was_ his name.

_It does not insist on its own way;_

Where was his wolf? To frolic in the foliage, a sacrilege of humanity, it’s soft evergreens and bright red roses springing faster and faster against the savage fires.

_It is not irritable…_

“That bastard,” Tobi hissed in torment. How could he do this to me? I gave him everything I had. I gave him my own flesh, plucked from the socket of my own face. How dare he mock me with those bright blue eyes, the smell of musk and sweat springing to his memory as they were enraptured in each others arms. Minato insisted they fight. “Minato knew.”

_Or resentful._

“That BASTARD!” His cries echo within his stone tomb. How could he do this? Didn’t know? Did he care? Couldn’t he see, with Obito’s sacrifice, the spawn that had permeated his chest? He shouldn’t have been so caring. He shouldn't have let him in. He tried to pass the pain off to another. That Nohara girl. It was a mistake.

_It does not rejoice in wrongdoing…_

He wants the pink headed girl dead. He’s killed many before, and wants to see her flesh match his. She deserves to die for catching Kakashi’s eye. Even if he has to ransack her garden himself.

_But rejoices in the truth._

“Do it, Uchiha. Kakashi betrayed you.” Madara eyes his handiwork— the piles of compost laying beside tendons and muscle, Tobi’s skin flayed back, his bowels eviscerated but free of all forms of plantae. Tobi smiles at the havoc done to his own body, though his tears still flow.

He feels nothing.

Tobi sits up, his smile stutters. A corpse lands, the squelches of raw meat hitting stone— a chorus of horror matching the grisly remains. “Dammit.” Madara kicks over the newly dead, the once bright eye soon match the black of the void. “Such a waste.”

_It bears all things…_

Red trails, stilled grunts, the scent of iron and… something familiar fills his senses.

_Believes all things…_

But how? How can he be back? A silver mane flits to his home, but his door reveals only gruesome decay. A silent, pitiful sob catches in his throat.

_Hopes all things…_

“No… Please. You can’t leave me again.”

The lifeless body strewn across his room, his grey, lifeless eye piercing into his soul. Kakashi pulls him into his lap. His mask is damp, his breath is ragged. 

An iris (a message) touches the back of his hand, its sibling cyclamen (goodbye) resting in his open palm.

_Love endures all things._


End file.
